Their Hill
by Jack of the North
Summary: Hermione can't deal with George marrying someone else and George finally realises it.


Hermione breathed deeply, calmly. She couldn't allow herself to get upset. She was dressed to the nines. The finest robes money could buy. She had hoped, naively maybe, that George would take one look at her and insist they leave together. But he had simply greeted her, the only change in his calm happy demeanour a slight tightening of his jaw as his eyes swept over her.

She smiled brightly as George looked out into the crowd and caught her eye. He winked at her, always the flirt, even on his wedding day. And it tore at her.

She hoped the smile plastered on her face was enough to keep the tears at bay. She thanked the bright sun that allowed her to hide her red puffy eyes behind a pair of sunglasses.

As the 'Bridal March' began and Angelina made her way down the aisle, Hermione began to hyperventilate. The crowd stood and around her people gushed about how beautiful the bride was. Her breathing sped up and became shallow and she knew she couldn't stand there through the whole ceremony and witness George marry someone else.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, worried, beside her.

She shook her head as Angelina passed their row. "No."

People resumed their seats and as soon as the bride stood beside the groom and all eyes were turned to them and theirs' to each other, Hermione stood and shuffled past the sea of knees, desperate to escape the glowing white marquee and the happy couple inside. People cast her curious glances, Harry stood to follow but thought better of it, realising she needed only one person, and she couldn't have him.

As soon as she was out of earshot, she turned on the spot and Apparated to the hill, their hill, not too far away.

She landed softly and let the tears flow. From where she stood, she could see the brilliant tent in the distance. She watched through blurry eyes in confusion as a stream of people exploded from the tent, flowing out in all directions. She didn't hear the soft 'pop' behind her as her eyes stayed transfixed on the tent.

_Had they been attacked? _

"I think they're looking for me," George said behind her and she turned to see him watching her watching what she thought was his wedding.

She barely allowed herself to believe it. And even when she did, she wouldn't allow it to happen.

"Go home, George. Whatever you're thinking, whatever you're feeling, go home."

"No," he said simple and sat down next to her.

They had spent hours upon hours on this hill, after Fred had died. Forming bonds near impossible to break. Giving shy kisses and passionately taking each other's virginity. For six months, they lived only for each other in an undefined bubble, carelessly, thoughtlessly supposed to be impenetrable.

And then reality came crashing down around her when George announced he had been asked out by Angelina. And Hermione had stupidly, _stupidly,_ stood there and said simply, "You should go."

And that was it, it was over.

"You know I was only with her because you told me to."

"I only told you to because I thought that's what you wanted."

They sat close, nearly touching yet they felt miles apart. They always touched, up here, on their hill.

"Your mother's going to kill you."

"Not if I bring you home with me."

Hermione snorted. "Yeah, then she'll kill _me_."

Silence and darkness fell as the last rays of sun that George and Angelina were supposed to say 'I do' to, dipped below the horizon.

George broke the silence with a soft chuckle. "Do you remember the first time we were up here?" he asked.

Hermione's light laughter joined his.

"How could I forget? It was the middle of summer and you dragged me up here. I thought I was going to die of heat stroke." Hermione's voice grew serious as she recalled the rest of that day. "I asked you why we just didn't Apparate and you said Fred had always wanted to climb it, the way they had watched muggles do when you were little boys. You told me how, when you two were six, you tried and the two of you passed out, tumbling down like toy soldiers."

George smiled; he loved hearing Hermione's sweet voice tell his stories, the stories of him and Fred.

"I couldn't do it. I saw you get up and I swear I thought I saw Fred go after you and I knew. I just knew I couldn't do it."

"George…"

"No, Hermione. I don't care. I don't care if my family are angry, I don't care if Ron feels betrayed, I don't care if Angelina sends hate mail for the next year. When I saw you leave, it was as if you were leaving me. I could stand up there, lie, and tell the world that I loved her if I thought I had your support. But then you left and it was like my world was turned upside down."

Then his lips were on her's, hot, sudden, and passionate. However, more importantly, oh so familiar. Like the cookies your grandmother made when you were a child or a lullaby your father used to sing.

Hermione couldn't deny it, George was unequivocally a part of her, her past and her future.

His mouth against hers, his tongue moving, exploring so expertly and recognisable. His taste was the exact same, a combination of cigarettes he had taken up and the sugar-free strawberry lollipops he sucked on to try to hide the smell from his mother.

"This is never what I wanted," Hermione gasped when George let her up for air. "You were never part of my plan."

"Do you care?" he murmured, concentrating on the space where her neck met her jaw line.

Her mind moved a million miles an hour, thoughts flitting through faster then she could handle. Yet through the haze, she could not find one single objecting thought, sensation or emotion.

"No, I don't."

_The End_


End file.
